


The Squipening

by abbeytre3



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Groundhog Day AU, M/M, michael didnt make an entrance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 12:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12457968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbeytre3/pseuds/abbeytre3
Summary: Michael thought that his life couldn't get any worse, on the run and deathly afraid of a wintergreen tictac. The year is 2017 and everything changed when he got his own Game Over.Now he's got a second chance, and a third, and he doesn't really know how many but he intends to make one of them stick.





	The Squipening

Michael let out a garbled scream as his mouth was pried open. His beaten body was pushed to the ground as a pill was jabbed past his tongue and he was forced to swallow. His anxious eyes only had a second to widen in alarm and shoulders to droop with failure before overwhelming pain wracked his body. The last thing he consciously recognized was the cold calculating eyes of his _best friend_.

 

Michael blinked and Jer—Squip swam into focus. The last phrase of Squip’s acidic words, “loser” barely registered as Michael flinched back, throwing himself across the cramped bathroom to distance himself from that _thing._ He stumbled backwards from the sudden motion and fell into the tub, a wall between them, good, and calculated the bruises he would add to the total from his knock into the porcelain. Then stopped. Calmed his racing heart, tried to slow the rush of adrenaline in his veins, and look around. He wasn’t in a basement. He was in a bathroom. And his mind was his own. No cleverly wrapped words intended to break him down a and build him up, like he had heard so much about. Somehow, the Squip had failed and he had been moved. Perhaps it was defective? Maybe he found other losers like him?

He had been spacing out instead of evaluating, something that could lose him his mind, and Michael only realized his mistake when there was a soft tentative touch to his bowed head. He flipped his sweatshirt sleeve to pull out his utility knife, only for nothing to happen. Babbling that he paid no head to, “Michael! Sorry! You know I didn—I didn’t mean it! Michael?”, ran through his muddy brain as he was assessing the situation, and flipped the arm near his head to plant the Squip onto the tiled floor. Michael hurdled the tub to pin the Squip down, making a mental list. He didn’t have a knife, he was in his CREEPS sweater, that he had burned, he was in a bathroom, and the Squip was here but not taunting him, taking him down, calling him _friend._

Michael looked down at the confused, and by the smell, drunk, bundle below him. Alcohol, one of the squips few weaknesses, and a useful tool.

Which means, this is Jeremy right now…

Michael pressed down on the back of Jeremy’s neck and the boy whimpered. He demanded, “What’s the date?!”

Jeremy stuttered, “Halloween! 2015! Michael, what’s going on?!”

Michael tightened his grip, the boy had to be lying. It was 2017 and everything was shit, from the squip epidemic to their president doing nothing about it.

Jeremy sputtered, “Michael! I need to breathe! Pease, I’m sorry, I’m terrible I know that! But please just—!”

He calmly took a phone out of his pocket, proof that something wasn’t right, he hadn’t willingly touched a smart electronic device in at least six months, and verified the date. Unless there was a very elaborate ruse to route out why he was immune or something, then Jeremy was telling the truth and he, had… time traveled.

Michael rolled off of Jeremy and leaned against the sink, looking at Jeremy through half lidded eyes, he could afford to relax, in the boy’s state Michael could take him in a heartbeat, “So.”

Jeremy stayed sprawled on the floor on his stomach, only rolling his head to look at Michael through his floppy bangs, “So.”

Michael twitched, “Got any knifes in this room you think?”

The boy narrowed his eyes, “You’re terrible at knifes. I have to cut the carrots whenever you’re over for dinner.”

He snorted, “That’s only because I hate salad and will do anything to make getting the salad harder.”

This was nice. This was, conversation, something easy that he hadn’t had for, oh years now. Michael wanted to sink into the comfort it provided if there wasn’t something desperately important that he was forgetting.

Jeremy pulled himself up to lean against Michael legs, “You know,” He started, vaguely waving, “I don’t think we’ve talked for a while. I miss that you know? Talking. And its stupid, because it was my fault in the first place, but I’ve really missed you.”

Michael tilted his head back and closed his eyes, “Well unless you magically find some Mountain Dew Red, I’m afraid that we will continue not having conversations.”

Jeremy frowned, a petulant little twist to the lips that for a moment threw Michael forward in time, to where he would reject the offer of his very own squip and the Squip would pout, and very calmly demand that Michael run.

A distant heat caressed Michael’s face, and this time he frowned, though in confusion. Why would there be? And then his eyes shot open and he saw the flames tripping over themselves to burst through the open doorframe, _Oh._

 

“Loser!”

Michael crossed his arms, wanting nothing more than to escape this hellhole, “Are you done Jeremy?”

Jeremy froze, mouth flapping like a singing fish, and Michael grabbed his arm and towed the two through the hordes of passed out teenagers, and didn’t stop even after they had crossed over the threshold of the house.

 


End file.
